The hallways were dim again.
He did not expect much from the people that ran this place, and had to guess that one of the lightbulbs had finally died out. From his position on the single, lonely looking cot in the square space he found himself in, he could not tell. Eyeing the barely visible hallway through the vertical rods of his cell, he could not tell much of anything at all.
There was scarcely anything in the small stone cell he had been forced into, only a single uncomfortable cot, with a tiny wooden desk next to it. In one corner, a sink and a toilet remained, uncovered, without the barest hints of privacy. Bare was the concept that the cell was constructed with, and the man who sat by his cot had long since given up trying to get comfortable within it.
To say that Rupert Callaghan had fallen from grace would be the understatement of the century.
He had never known such discomforts in his life, having been raised in the highest echelons of society ever since he could remember. That life was now a distant memory of his, having lost track of time ever since he was thrown into this cell without so much as a word of explanation. Of course, he knew why he was in the cell—rather, he knew exactly who had put him there. The thought of a certain boy—though he remained a demon in his nightmares—sent a chill down his spine.
There were no traces of anger left in the man, gaunt and pale as he was, dressed in a tan robe that resembled rags more than clothing. In the beginning, he had raged and screamed, believing his treatment to be unjustified. He had thought that his friends would have gotten him out by now, knowing the extent of their reach. Yet… as the days turned into weeks, and likely into months, Rupert no longer had any anger left.
Only fear. For there was only one reason why he had been left to rot in the cell, despite his considerable reach; he had been sacrificed. Like the wounded deer amongst the herd, he had been left behind for the wolves to feast on.
There was a sound resounding down the length of the hall.
Rupert hastily sat himself up, trying to smooth away his crinkles and adjust his ragged looking blonde hair to be more presentable. He had a dearth of company ever since he had been thrown into the cell, and though the interrogations from the Secret Service had been brutal and terrifying, the loneliness of the prison almost made them preferable.
It had been months since someone had come to see him. The only time he had company was when a guard came by to give him his daily gruel of food—there had been no conversation offered by those guards.
Standing up, Rupert remained hopeful, tearing himself from his mass of fear and doubt—to attempt to reimagine himself as the charismatic noble that he had been brought up to be. His mind flashed through possible visitors, and though there were many on his list that he knew could help him—save him—there were also many who he did not want to see.
A tall man stepped into the dim light, illuminated by the single lightbulb above the cell. He was of nobility, judging by his luxurious attire and posture. Teal hair, expertly styled, and cold dark-orange eyes were the first things noticed about the tall figure.
"G-gottwald," Rupert stuttered, his raspy voice echoing down the corridor, dry with signs of infrequent use. "I mean—Lord Gottwald."
Rupert tried to stand up straighter, and match the bearing the other man showed, but failed miserably as his head barely came up to the other man's upper chest. There was fear in his expression, though he tried to hide it. Jeremiah Gottwald was one figure that he hoped to never see ever again. He knew exactly what the guard dog of the boy prince represented.
Jeremiah, his eyes narrowed in disdain, did not enjoy the sight of the gaunt prisoner before him. "Callaghan," he began in a cold voice. "I hope you've been enjoying your stay here."
To the disgraced man's credit, he did not flinch, nor react to the barb visibly. "Yes… the amenities are not so great, but the décor is fine." He tried for charm, inwardly withholding his anger.
The lord before him raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sign of life. "Let's cut to the chase, Callaghan, you know why I'm here."
"I… I can guess," the gaunt noble admitted, clenching his hands nervously. "For both our sakes however, let's have your reason heard."
Jeremiah crossed his arms, his intimidating figure causing Callaghan to shrink back. "Very well. My prince wants names, dates… everything you have on your benefactors."
Rupert could have guessed as much, and carefully considered his options. "I do not know what you mean, my lord, but perhaps you could clarify? I live to serve His Royal Highness…"
"Don't posture, Callaghan, it is beneath us both," Jeremiah retorted with a scoff. "You are still in shock I believe, if you think for a second that you still hold any cards to play."
The taller man's words were like daggers through his heart. "I… I have my people on the outside." His tone was unconvincing. "You… they still need me."
Jeremiah shook his head irritably. "You don't get it. Since the very moment you crossed His Highness, your fate was sealed. There is nothing left for you to do but to decide on the manner of your comeuppance."
"My friends—"
"Are gone, and those who attached themselves too closely are sharing your fate. Just where do you think you are? This is the Avarice Prison, surely you know what happens to those who end up here?" Cold orange eyes bore into the shivering ex-noble standing behind bars.
The disgraced lord had thought that the terrifying prison—filled with silence and nothingness—was just another holding area before his trial. Hearing that it was the famed Avarice Prison, which held only traitors and enemies of the empire, he felt his heart drop. There was nobody who made it back from that prison—not whole in any case.
"Terms?" Callaghan offered, his tone grim as he felt his life beginning to slip from him. He had held on the slimmest of hopes for the longest time, but now he knew that it had all been in vain.
"You cooperate, and I mean cooperate, then we shall see that your end is one that you choose. You know what happens in this prison… how long the stays can get." Jeremiah's tone was ruthless and to the point. The prison was made to break, and it could take years before that happened. Death would be a willing alternative for the vast majority of the prisoners here.
There was no help coming, and there never had been.
The blonde man remained silent for a moment, before his guarded expression vanished and turned to pure agony. "My family?" he asked in a low whisper. He had tried not to think about his wife and daughter for the longest time, and could only imagine what they were going through after his fall from grace.
"You know what happens to the family of traitors," Jeremiah said with some regret, uncrossing his arms at the sight of the blonde prisoner starting to sob. "But… my prince would prefer to avoid pointless deaths—thus, I have been obliged to offer your family a deal."
Rupert Callaghan thought back to the words the young prince had offered him during their last meeting, shortly before his destruction.
When I have stripped away all that you own; your name, your possessions, and your pride… remember the mercy that I have shown here today.
Slowly nodding, trying to gather himself even as his body was racked with ugly sobs. "I-I will cooperate—just… j-just please, not my family!"
At the sight of the former viscount, reduced to a pathetic crying mess, Jeremiah remained stony. He had an ounce of sympathy for the Callaghan family, as they did not choose for their lord and father to make the worst decision of his life. The man had chosen to become the attack dog for the purist faction without even knowing what that had entailed.
"Your wife and child will be sent into exile, that much my prince has allowed. They will be given a small stipend for the first few years to settle themselves," Jeremiah told the shaking prisoner, the words seemed to have a calming effect on the former lord. "You will never see them again."
Callaghan nodded mutely, he had expected as much, but was still thankful that his dear wife and daughter would not come to harm. "T-thank you."
"Do not thank me yet, Callaghan." At those words, Jeremiah pulled up a chair from the side of the wall, before sitting down and bringing out a briefcase. Unlocking the briefcase, he took out a stack of sheets along with some pen and paper. Handing over some of the documents to the prisoner through the bars, the imposing figure of Lelouch's personal bodyguard readied himself to jot down every ounce of information available. "Now, tell me everything you know about these individuals and events. Leave nothing out."
The former viscount, and now death row inmate, simply nodded with little life as he read through the given documents. In all his considerable life, he had strived to better himself, and his family—as his father and forefathers had done. Now the only thing he could feel was regret.
Regret at ever allying with the purist factions. Regret for having been taught the political game at all. Regret at not joining the art academy when he had been given the opportunity. Regret for his beautiful wife and daughter, who he would never see again.
Most of all, Rupert Callaghan regretted ever crossing the boy prince known as Lelouch vi Britannia.
※※※※※※※※※※
"General Reeves, it is a pleasure to see you again," one dark-haired boy greeted, his back straight and his eyes serious as he extended a hand in greeting.
The general, a large figure, shooting past six feet in height and sporting a slightly round belly, did not have a friendly look on his face as he looked down at the boy greeting him. Nonetheless, he begrudgingly extended his much larger hands to shake the hands of the boy prince. "Lelouch, I hope you are well." His greeting was short, and trampled over the decorum that were typically required for those of royal upbringing.
Behind Lelouch, hovering a few steps away, the tall figure of his bodyguard bristled at the slight. Though the boy prince had just turned eleven, and was merely a boy in appearance, he was still a prince of Britannia. A prince would always outrank a general in the grand scheme of things—but in a society that prided meritocracy above all else, Lelouch's blood remained inconsequential for the most part.
If the boy prince was offended by the light greeting, he did not show it on his cooled expression. Instead, he merely gestured for the general—accompanied by two of his aides—to follow him. The two younger male assistants scrambled after the trio of Lelouch, Gottwald, and the general as they made their way along the pristinely white, lengthy hallways.
"I do appreciate you taking the time to come here, General Reeves, I know how demanding your schedule must be, especially during this period of growing tensions." Lelouch's serious tone surprised the two assistants, who were unused to the boy prince. He did not act or talk like any boy they had ever known, even despite being of royal blood.
Reeves pursed his lips, running a hand through his short greyish hair. "Ah yes… you know how I just love entertaining anyone and everyone that comes to me. It's not as if I have an entire army to command or anything."
His tone was biting, and Jeremiah almost made to say something, but knew better than to open his mouth to the famed general—it would undoubtedly worsen the Prince's position. Lelouch himself was in fact, quite used to the general's tone by now, having met him a few times before.
"I'm sure that you will not regret coming here today, General," Lelouch answered, ignoring the slight once more. "Neither of us enjoy having our time wasted, I assure you."
Rounding the end of the long corridor, the boy prince led the group into another hallway, this time with large windows that replaced the left wall. Through the clear glass, they could all see the sight of giant machinery within the grand space of the main ground-level floor. A few individuals clothed in white were detailing out orders to a few in a grey jumpsuit and hardhats. The most prominent object of interest, were of course the two enormous, humanoid-looking giants that had become the deadliest weapons of the world.
Knightmares.
The Ashford Industries Catalyst Center was recently built, and no expenses had been spared in its construction. It had state of the art equipment, security features, and technological implementations that made the building the most advanced KMF lab in the country.
If the general was impressed with the building, he did not show it past the scowl on his face. "I most definitely do not, as I'm sure you'll recall, Lelouch. Two months ago, you showed up at my office with naught but a promise and air in your hands."
Lelouch frowned at the older man's words, disliking the reminder of his last visit. It had been a mistake of his, arriving at the general's house with an introduction secured graciously by Cornelia. He had expected that the older man would be bolder, more forward-seeking, and willing to see the merits of working with Ashford Industries—and working with his own person.
The experienced general had taken one look at the boy prince and had dismissed him without a further glance. Being dismissed had left Lelouch furious, but even he could not dispute the fact that he had nothing concrete in hand to show. Numbers on paper and proposals held no weight to the general, who had risen high enough to command a bulwark of the Britannian Ground Forces. It was only the man's deep respect for Cornelia—a rising star inside of the army—that had secured Lelouch another meeting with the busy figure.
A long string of successes had made Lelouch arrogant, overconfident in his ability to charm and read others. He had vowed not to make that mistake again.
"I promise you that you will not be leaving here empty this time." The tone of absolute confident coming from the young boy raised some eyebrows, but none could deny the conviction being shown.
Reeves did not comment, but gave the young prince an appraising look as he and his assistants were ushered into a spacious looking room. There was ample seating; some comfortable looking sofas and benches facing a transparent windowed wall revealing the vastness of the main test chamber below. The large figures of the two Knightmare Frames were situated in front of them, and the viewing position offered the spectators a perfect view of both machines facing each other on the ground level below them.
Lelouch stepped up to the viewing window, and offered the general beside him a seat, which was readily declined, the larger man deciding to stand next to him. A few servants meandered in the background before coming up to serve the viewers some refreshments. Only the general accepted the glass of champagne, taking large gulps and almost downing the liquid in one drink.
Watching with a bored expression, the general had his glass quickly refilled by a butler, before turning to look at the boy prince next to him. "So, what you mentioned before… is that what you're trying to show me today?"
"What I will be showing today is an application of that technology, General Reeves." Lelouch had no intention of merely trying.
Scoffing, the general swirled the shimmering liquid in his glass idly before downing it in another single drink. "You already told me that the technology would not be ready for a few years at least, and my engineers told me that your tech is inapplicable for combat."
The boy prince raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad that you still researched my original proposal… but as you'll see soon enough, that is no longer the case. The timeline has been moved up."
Jeremiah, seeing the nod from his prince, spoke briefly into a handheld radio, signaling to the trained employees below that the test was about to begin. Immediately, the scientists in their lab coats and the multitude of engineers began to move, making their last-minute checks before leaving the area clear of personnel. Soon there were no individuals left in the middle of the main floor except for the two hulking forms of the Knightmare Frames—early fourth generation prototype units.
"As you may have noted, the initial proposal was for something that was not quite ready for combat—a major complaint that we have since addressed," Lelouch casually informed the spectators. Rapid pen movements were heard as the two young men—the general's aides—took down what they saw below. "Indeed, we are not quite ready to tap into energy storage for the long-term just yet. However, what we have developed instead will serve Britannia just as well."
Down below, the Knightmare Frame on the left raised a standard KMF rifle and expertly aimed it at its opponent directly facing him. The three newcomers in the viewing platform were stunned as the other unit did nothing to ready itself for what might be a lethal shot. The opposing unit was bare, much like the other, but it did not have any visible armaments, and was painted a pristine white, whereas the aggressor unit had the normal brown-black coloring.
"Fire when ready," the boy informed lightly to his bodyguard, and did not look back as Jeremiah repeated the command into his radio.
As the thunderous sounds of rifle shots rang through the air, the spectators braced themselves for any possible explosion or reaction from the KMF subjected to the assault. They were treated to several loud explosions as the bullets hit the frame head on, but to the trained soldiers' eyes, it was disconcerting. If the explosive rounds of the rifle had impacted correctly, the KMF would have been blown apart, contributing to a much bigger explosion than what was seen.
General Reeves frowned as he observed the smoke quickly clearing, already seeing the form of a still-standing Knightmare Frame coming into picture. The pristine white paint had remained unscarred, despite the vicious attack at short range. There had been no mistaking what had just happened; somehow the explosive rounds had been neutralized.
"How?" the general demanded, his wizened mind whirling with thoughts; many applications of something like this immediately coming to mind. "If you're trying to play a trick on me…"
"No tricks, General Reeves," Lelouch replied with a smile that could've been mistaken as a smirk. "We will now show you a slowed down version of what just happened."
Immediately, the general and his aides turned to the TV that had been placed in the center of the room, and watched as a replay of the events was looped, slowly showing the footage from the high-speed cameras.
The explosive bullets, half a dozen at most, seemed to impact the white Knightmare Frame without any sort of resistance, yet, as the slowed footage revealed, the bullets did not quite reach the frame. Instead, a meter or so before impact, the air had shimmered and a translucent blue light could be seen surrounding the white Knightmare Frame before the explosion began. It was obvious to the stunned viewers how the damage had been mitigated.
"High energy shielding?!" The exclamation came from one of the aides, who was well-versed in Knightmare Frame technology. "That sort of thing is years away!"
"That's not all," Lelouch added, gesturing for his bodyguard to signal the last part of the exhibition.
"Reflect," Jeremiah demanded into his radio, and did not have to wait before the white KMF pilot obeyed.
Before the newcomers could ask what the two had meant, the white Knightmare Frame brought up its right arm, and now their eyes could see that there was indeed one armament equipped. It was in the form of a rifle attachment attached to the bottom of the hand, where a nozzle could be seen jutting out slightly. Straightening the right arm, the white KMF took aim, then, fired.
Immediately, a burst of blue light blinded the viewing area for a brief millisecond. All eyes saw the beam of energy leaving the barrel of the rifle attachment, impacting onto the grey KMF which had fired the rifle rounds into it just before. This time, the shimmering air and the blue translucent light was seen freely due to the lack of explosion. For a brief second, the shimmering blue light looked like it would hold against the beam, but then it faltered and broke, and the blue ray of energy pierced through the left shoulder, and dissipated before it could reach a wall.
Silence, the kind that spoke of awe, filled the room.
"We call it Mirror Shielding; it is the best application of our new battery technology that we could produce in this short time. Obviously, there are some drawbacks, but I believe that the benefits speak for themselves. There is nothing else on the market that compares to what we have here.
"Now, General Reaves," Lelouch finally addressed, his eyes piercingly cold as he looked at the general, all traces of boyishness gone from his expression. "Let's talk business."
※※※※※※※※※※
The tie was irritating as it was suffocating.
Lelouch could not stop adjusting it even as he waited in the lobby of the enormous mansion. All around him, were guests in similar attire, wearing the latest in Britannian fashion. Though all of them were much older than him, they remained respectful of him, and did not seem likely to approach anytime soon.
He was one of the few royals in attendance this night, and he was glad for it. His siblings were many, such that he almost forgot many of them at times, but above all… they were utterly vain. He detested the way the public—nobles included—fussed over the royal family, complimenting them on everything and anything while not even bothering hiding their intent to curry favour. Yet there were many—perhaps the majority—amongst his extended family that enjoyed the popularity and groveling afforded to them. Just the thought of his eldest sister Guinevere—the most extravagant royal he knew—brought a scowl to his face. She was unbearably arrogant as well as annoying.
Shaking his head from darker thoughts, Lelouch began to tap his foot irritably as he eyed the growing throng of people arriving at the party. He had arrived early of course, despite the fact that arriving late was somehow 'fashionable' to those in the upper echelons of society. He couldn't hate that trend any more if he tried, as he valued his time quite dearly.
"Late," he muttered to himself, eyeing the single clock in the lobby, and frowning at the time. He had initially thought to go inside, greet the notable individuals on his list, and immediately get out. But his choice of party companion certainly did not care for any of his well-crafted plans.
She in fact, quite enjoyed tearing them apart.
There was a soft, tinkling laughter to his left, and he snapped his head over to find the blonde girl that was supposed to be his date, smiling at him. He would have sent her a sharp remark if not for the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.
Milly Ashford, aged twelve, was dressed in a light-blue gown that stopped at her knees—it seemed to shimmer with every movement. Her usual shoulder-length hair was beautifully tressed into a princess braid, and her large blue eyes seemed to sparkle as she met Lelouch's own violet orbs.
Lelouch felt that she was rather pretty this evening.
"Milly," he called out in greeting, ruthlessly shutting down any signs of nervousness he felt as she walked up to him. Suddenly, he felt rather underdressed in his simple black dress suit—though it was a custom-tailored piece by a renowned seamstress.
"My dearest prince," the blonde girl greeted with a perfectly practiced curtsy, and smiled widely as she saw her favourite dark-haired boy avoid her eyes. "I hope I have not kept you waiting, I had to get some help with the dress you see." She casually twirled around for him, letting him see the elaborate design behind the straps and zippers on the back.
The boy knew better than to ask her to elaborate on that, and had no intention of hearing about designer clothing for the next few hours. Instead, he offered her his arm, to which she took with a beaming smile. "No need to worry, my lady, I'm used to it after all."
Milly giggled, before looking at the boy leading her with a fond smile. "I don't know what you could possibly mean, Lulu."
Choosing to ignore her words, Lelouch led them to the doorman, and waited patiently for the two of them to be announced. The well-dressed man taking care of the entryway to the ballroom tried not to look nervous as he took in the sight of two of the most important children in the country.
"Announcing! The treasured lady heiress herself, Milly Ashford, and her esteemed escort, Prince Lelouch vi Britannia!"
Lelouch, with his head held up high, led the blonde girl holding onto his arm gracefully into the extravagant ballroom. The two of them were bathed in the light, shimmering and reflecting off the vast array of jeweled and crystal furnishings of the ballroom. It was to be expected of the best event venue in the country. The Emerald Chateau was an extravagant villa that catered to the elite of the elite, and it had the most beautiful ballroom even when compared to all the palaces of Pendragon.
Booking the entire villa was typically only available to the royals, but certain exceptions existed for those of sufficient renown—and wealth.
The boy and girl duo attracted a great many stares as they made their way across the ballroom towards a table that had been reserved to the side. Calculating and appraising, were the contents of those stares, and Lelouch did not doubt that his appearance tonight with Milly would soon be the talk of the nobles. The Ashfords continued to be the talk of the capital, with rumours abound regarding their success.
Arriving at their table, the two children of nobility were greeted by an older couple in matching attire, and an elder man just behind them. The male of the couple, bright blonde hair and dark blue eyes looked at them with a small smile, while the woman with dirty-blonde hair and the same eyes as Milly beside him, had a carefully crafted expression on her beautiful round face. The tall grey-haired older man with a most imposing form gave the two a fond smile—a sight that was seldom seen on his wizened face.
"My Lords Ashford, and Lady Ashford," Lelouch greeted, offering them a short bow while his blonde companion gave her parents a curtsy. "I hope that the evening finds you well."
"Lelouch, my dear boy, you are looking rather dashing this evening. I hope that my capricious daughter has been behaving." Dominic Ashford's tone was light and casual as he greeted the prince and his daughter.
"Father, how could you ask that?" Milly asked, trying for an affronted look, but failing.
The five of them shared a laugh, before the only woman in the group moved up and began to fret over the shorter version of her. Lelouch thought that Milly really did resemble her mother, Madeline, as they had the same darkish blonde hair and unique blue eyes. Though the pout on her cute face was certainly unique.
"Lelouch, I'm glad that you could attend our little soiree." Ruben Ashford—as tall and noble-looking as ever—dressed in the full black and gold regalia of the Ashford family, came up to Lelouch with a smile.
"Of course, Ruben, how could I say no to great company and such grand extravagance."
The Lord laughed, resting a hand on the young prince's shoulders. "I can relate to the former my boy."
Weariness and anger had been the only thing on the old lord's mind as of late, but now, the wrinkles on his face seemed lessened, and his typically stern expression reduced further. The Ashford family had cemented their position as one of the premier noble houses of Britannia. The opposition had been brutal; an uncountable number of houses had sought to strip away all that the Ashfords had—their name and their fortune. In the aftermath of the political and financial strife that had occurred in just half a year, the victors were clear.
The Purist faction sought to strip away the Ashford name—and their noble status—but in light of their failure, they had only managed the opposite. The Ashford name was stronger than ever with the commoners in particular, who had been reminded of the patrons that had supported their most beloved figure: Marianne the Flash. They were now untouchable through accusations of treason or espionage, as their characters were now without doubt.
All vocal detractors had quickly vanished, withdrawing any and all statements against the Ashfords. Previous business partners, former allies of the house, all quietly came back into the fold—all but begging to be forgiven for their actions or inaction. Though the majority of those who had stepped back had only done so out of fear, the lack of loyalty they had shown was an irredeemable slight. In the old days, blood would have been spilled and banners called to arms. It was to their relief however, that Lord Ruben Ashford was an agreeable man—a man of true nobility. He would not retaliate needlessly... nor would he forget.
Tonight's vaunted gathering was not quite the celebration of the fall season—though it was called the Autumn Ball. It was a reminder; to enemies and friends alike, of the strength and wealth that the Ashford's still wielded.
"Lulu, Grandfather, are you two talking politics again?" a cherubic voice asked from behind the two of them.
"Of course not, my dearest Milly." The elder Ashford smiled at his granddaughter. "I know you'd never forgive me if I occupied too much of your Lelouch's time."
"G-grandfather!"
The adult Ashfords shared a laugh as Milly blushed and looked away from Lelouch's raised eyebrow.
"Now now, the ball is about to begin, my Lord Father, I'll leave the honour of the opening words to you," Dominic said, nodding towards the closed doors and the expectant expressions on their guests.
Ruben, his smile fading into a stern line, gazed at the gathered nobles and influencers of Britannia with hidden disdain. "Of course," he replied, taking the lead towards the center of the room, where a raised podium was set, adorned in black and gold—the colours of the Ashford house.
"Milly, Lelouch… do have fun tonight," Madeline said to the young couple who had their arms linked once more. "Remember who we are, Milly," she added pointedly to her daughter.
The boy and girl watched as three Ashfords stood on the raised podium, signaling to the attendees that the ball was about to begin. A sudden hush fell through the enormous ballroom as Ruben, imposing as ever, began his opening speech. His tone was powerful and so were his words as he thanked the guests for coming.
Lelouch could barely prevent a smirk from forming on his face as Ruben spoke of friends and supporters—all but calling out those in attendance that had turned their heads from the plight of the Ashfords. The lords and ladies in attendance shifted uncomfortably from their positions, each of them knowing that Ruben was not praising them despite his kind words.
"Everything alright with your parents?" Lelouch asked quietly to the girl latched to his right arm.
Milly nodded an affirmative. "Almost back to normal..." she answered in a whisper.
Even from their position to the sidelines, Lelouch could see Madeline Ashford giving them an appraising eye, a complicated expression on her beautiful face. There was no longer fear in her eyes when she looked upon him—though some apprehension remained. He could only guess at how Milly's parents perceived their friendship.
"Besides that," Milly began, taking his attention away from the podium, "do you even know how to dance, Lulu?"
Lelouch was almost affronted at her smirking face. "Of course... I've been taught by the best instructors since I was five, I know all about"—his eyes suddenly widened as he took in Milly's thoughtful expression—"I mean, I'm adequate."
"That's great," she replied with a beaming smile, a knowing look hidden behind it causing Lelouch to groan silently. "Ah, looks like the ball is beginning," she added, seeing her grandfather leaving the podium and the servants quickly clearing it away. Soon after, the live orchestra in the background began to play; a classical piece suitable for the occasion.
Lelouch, straightened up and took a step to stand before his date of the evening. Steeling the sudden nervousness in the pit of his stomach, he bowed lightly before offering a hand to the blonde girl before him. "May I have the first dance, my lady?"
Milly happily gave him her hand, ignoring the sudden flush that permeated her cheeks as the handsome boy before her looked directly into her eyes. "You may, my dearest prince."
Together, the youngest couple of the ball moved to the center of the room, joining the other dancers that had decided to partake in the first dance. They took a position near the middle, as the older couples gave way for the boy prince and the Ashford heiress. The audience knew better than to treat the sight of the boy and girl lightly—though they could not help but marvel at the pairing. The more calculating members of the crowd knew the significance of the heiress choosing Lelouch as her date.
Ignoring the curious stares—even the ones from the Ashfords—the young couple had only eyes for each other. Lelouch, despite not showing any sign of nervousness on the outside, could not deny that he was in fact filled with nerves. Their hands were entwined, their bodies touching ever so lightly in the starting position of the waltz. Milly looked flushed as she tried to focus on the positioning of her own feet, rather than on the fact that her favourite boy was holding her close to him.
Then, the music truly began, the volume drowning out conversation and signaling the start of the waltz. Lelouch did not hesitate, immediately flowing into the dance, taking the lead. To his surprise, Milly followed closely, without stumbling whatsoever. The waltz was no beginners dance—and in fact, required partners at a sufficient level of closeness and practice. The fact that they flowed together without a hair out of place was a fact that would astound any dance instructor. Any onlookers looking at the young pair would hardly guess that it was their first dance together.
"You know how to dance," Milly said in the middle of their waltz, her head so close that she could easily rest it against his shoulders.
"I can," the prince agreed with a smile, even as he turned them towards the left, following the flow of dance set by the other pairs. "You're not so bad yourself," he praised her.
"As if that was ever in question," she replied with her own little smile.
They danced to the music, another pair lost in the sea of dancers. But they were unique in their own way, for their dance was not for the sake of the spectators nor was it for the sake of upholding their image. No, their dance was their own, and it was a dance that spoke of the trust that held the two of them together.
Lelouch had never known himself to be able to relax in another's company. That problem had only increased since his mother's death. It was only alone, or in the company of Nunnally or Euphemia that he could truly relax without restraint. He knew now that Milly could be added to that list, for her presence gave him strength… and gave him warmth, loathe as he was to admit it.
She was special to him.
The song was over before they knew it, and so was their dance. They took breaths of exertion, sharing a smile as they gathered themselves. Joining the other dancers in a small bow, they moved gracefully off the dance floor, allowing new participants to partake in the ball. Silently, he offered his blonde companion his right arm, to which she immediately took. Together, they moved as one pair towards the back of the ballroom.
Along the way they had to stop, and were stopped many times by the attendees. Lords and ladies of various renown congratulated them on their graceful dancing, and subtly tried to pay homage to both the prince of Britannia and the heiress of the Ashfords. The two children of nobility took to the challenge like fish to water.
"Baron Goodwin, it is great to finally meet you, your wineries are the talk of the palace."
A greeting here and there, filled with empty platitudes.
"Why yes, Lord Morris, the garden at the Aries Palace is the most beautiful—perhaps I could extend an invitation to you and your lovely wife sometime."
They were expecting two children—easily charmed and influenced—yet it was not what they encountered.
Milly curtsied, a gentle smile on her face as she greeted the Lady of Gardner. "My lady, you simply must tell me who did your dress—it is beyond dazzling!"
Fake praises and compliments were easily turned around.
"Ah, you are too kind, Lord Leonis, my dear Lelouch and I are indeed the closest of friends. But enough about that, I've heard rumour that you've managed to acquire a ruby of a most magnificent size!"
Milly Ashford was perhaps the most surprising individual at the party—to Lelouch's eyes at least. He had always known his dear friend to be intelligent—extraordinarily so—when she put her mind to work. But seeing the way she handled the political nature of the conversations... left him staring.
It would seem that he had underestimated her.
Together, the prince and his princess—for Milly was a princess in all but title—moved down the floor, traversing the world of adults without a single stumble. Soon, the adults went off, and the conversation turned to the dance floor once more where Dominic and Madeline were beginning their own waltz. The Lord and Lady Ashford were famed for their dancing ability, and the spectators could hardly wait to judge it for themselves.
As a new song stirred the dancers into action once more, Lelouch and Milly found themselves alone near the back. Seeing that Milly was beginning to tire, Lelouch took her hand and led her towards the balcony nearest to them. Opening the double glass doors and closing it behind them, the young couple let out sighs of relief as the cool night air immediately hit them. It had been stuffy in the ballroom, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
It was a private little alcove that could only fit a few individuals. Lelouch leaned against the railing, his elbows providing support as he looked up at the beautiful blue full moon, basking the night in an almost ethereal light. He was soon joined by his blonde date, her head coming to rest against his left shoulder as she seemingly snuggled into his side.
It was a calm and quiet night, with only the sound of rustling leaves and crickets heard—mixed with the background noise of the symphony behind them. For a long time, the two of them stood silently close together, merely admiring the beauty of the night, and the tranquility of their scenery. Below them were vast gardens, of the most vibrant colours and exotic fauna that he could hardly place to any one location.
"Thank you for accompanying me, Lulu..." she whispered with closed eyes, her head nestled comfortably in the crook of his neck.
Lelouch hesitantly placed his arm around her in support, receiving a contented murmur in response. "Of course, Milly, it is my pleasure."
And it truly was, to Lelouch's surprise. Not that he had enjoyed the empty interactions with the upper echelons of society. What he had enjoyed was Milly's company, plain and simple.
"Do you really mean that?" Milly asked softly, almost hesitantly, as she turned her head slightly to peer up at his violet orbs.
"I do, my lady," he answered, swallowing a lump he didn't have as the girl before him smiled beautifully. "It was a pleasure to escort you this evening."
She giggled and broke away from her position, almost skipping as she turned towards the door. "I've got you now Lulu," she began, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the balcony, "and I'm never letting go."
There was a strange seriousness to her last words, but Lelouch did not have time to think upon them as right before the glass doors leading back to the ballroom, Milly suddenly stopped. She turned fully to him, suddenly grasping the edges of his collar before pulling him downwards.
Her lips met his right cheek, barely touching the edges of his lips, and Lelouch felt his heart almost leap out of his chest at the suddenness of the kiss. It was a short kiss, lasting a few fleeting seconds before Milly pulled back, a most wondrous expression on her blushing face.
He thought that she looked quite pretty in that moment.
"Now, let's dance some more!"
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The individual in the mirror that reflected his own appearance looked decidedly out of place. He had never looked so faint, so pale, and so vulnerable in his life. Not since his vow of fire and vengeance, had he shown such weakness.
He was thankful for the privacy of the bathroom as he supported himself over the sink. The running water coming from the tap helped to silence his retching.
What did you expect? He had always known what his business—his technology—would be used for. It should have been no surprise what an exclusive deal with the military of the world's strongest country would entail. Did you think they wouldn't use it in war? That killing wouldn't be its prime function?
His right arm lashed out, his fist hitting the reflection in the face. Silently screaming in agony, he brought his hand back, cradling his bruised and bleeding knuckles, and ignoring the small spider-web of cracks that had appeared in the mirror. It had done nothing to alleviate his anger.
The feeling of anger was directed at his own person. He had always known what his actions would entail, what the consequences of dealing with weapons technology would be.
A merchant of death...
He thought he had resolved himself long ago, but reality had proved himself wrong. Cursing at his own weakness, he hastily washed his bloody hand and wrapped it with a towel, ignoring the deep, pulsing pain. Straightening himself up, he remade his hair and looked over his regal attire, making sure not a single element was out of place.
Throwing the bloody towel into the trash, he gave himself one last glance at the mirror, where the figure of a black-haired boy with vivid violet eyes could be seen, dressed in the finest regalia that spoke of his nobility.
A cold, emotionless expression fell over his pale face.
Stepping out into the hall, he made steady strides to rejoin the gathering in the main room. Joining his side shortly was the tall figure of his orange-eyed royal guard. The mans concerned gaze washed over the boy, but he did not speak, merely walking a step behind.
Back into the main room, surrounded by screens, the boy was aware of the gazes of the men in the room immediately snapping to his person.
"Lelouch," a soft voice called out from the right of him, as the person stepped beside him. "Are you alright?"
The voice was unheard in a room filled with the sounds of battle coming from the giant screens. Men filled the room, standing in their regal military attire—medals and stars to match—and their voices could be heard commenting over the noise of gunfire and explosions. In the cacophony of noises, the quiet conversation of Lelouch vi Britannia and his eldest brother could not be heard.
"Yes, Schneizel, I'm fine," Lelouch said simply, and shared a complicated look with his brother—a most concerning gaze was directed upon him. He ignored that look, and began to lead them towards their section in the back of the room.
The dark-haired prince—the youngest in the room by far—would not show weakness here—not now… not ever.
As he led them to their section of the room, he took care to meet the curious looks sent his way by the various generals and other military staff in the room. All individuals in the room were of importance to the complicated military complex of Britannia, and to be invited here, on the eve of the country's newest battlefront, was a privilege that was not easily obtained. For all of his contributions, he had been given a most vaunted reward in the form of a direct invitation to the High Command of the Britannian Army.
The room was filled with sounds of gunfire, of explosions, and in the distance, faint sounds of screams—of death and pain. It was clear that the enemies of Britannia were outnumbered and outclassed. The Knightmare Frames of Britannia showed a clear dichotomy; a sight of awe and wonder to the Britannians and a wraith of the darkest form to the poor souls forming the lines of Japan's defense.
He saw the shimmer in the air and the familiar blue translucent glow around the Knightmare units being battered by the armour-piercing rounds from the Japanese tanks. The glow built up, and he could only watch in silence—even as shouts of awe and joy went up around him—as the stored energy was returned in force from a KMF unit; the beam of dazzling light pierced through the reactive-composite armour of the line of tanks as if they were paper. The destruction was devastating, and Lelouch forced himself to watch everything as it unfolded on the big screen.
War strategy for Britannia dictated that the first offensive was unrestrained. There would be no mercy.
The city was burning, and the air of despair could be felt even across the distance nature of a screen. There had been no warning, and the evacuation had come too late. Civilians—of which there were plenty—would no doubt be added to the staggering body count, and considered as simply another consequence of war.
Lelouch clenched his hands—the only outwardly indication of his distaste—yet his expressionless face showed only a vision of calm. Inside, he steeled his heart and prepared himself for the weeks of utter brutality that would be befalling the country of Japan. He had been a contributor to this war after all.
He would see it to the end.
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A/N: Thanks for reading.
Ending at the beginning of the invasion.
The next chapter will be a four year timeskip (there are 6 years from this chapter to canon) leading into the next arc. Lots of rooms for the arcs that I'm planning, since I don't plan to stick to canon at all.
C.C will definitely be a major character in this story—she's my favourite. Pairing isn't set in stone, but romance is a major component, so there will be lots of that. I plan to write all of the character interactions to the best of my ability and see where the flow leads into.
I really do enjoy writing this story, though there are a lot of scenes that can be improved along with my earlier writing. Please feel free to let me know if there any glaring mistakes or oddities, and of course what you think about the story.
As always, thanks for all of the favourites/reviews! Really appreciate it!
